


Fool Me Once

by MissBarbieAnne



Category: Original Work
Genre: Coughing, F/M, Fever, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, Sickfic, rash, scarlet fever, strep, strep throat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-02-27 12:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13247898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBarbieAnne/pseuds/MissBarbieAnne
Summary: Kudos and Comments are encouraged and appreciated! ♥





	1. Part One

Loghan’s POV

 

Spring break was supposed to be the time for relaxation and fun. It was a week free of the stress and demand of college. It was a time for vacations and partying, late nights watching movies and eating junk food or playing beer pong. A time to feel young and free. That was what spring break was supposed to be. It was not supposed to be headaches, sore throats, and body aches.

Unfortunately, that is what I had been dealing with for over a week now. I tried to nurse it, drinking orange juice and taking cold medicine. I muddled through midterms while sucking on cough drops, trying to soothe the scratchiness in my throat. But it just seemed to get worse. Every morning I woke up hacking, rubbing at my throat as each cough tore it apart. I tried drinking tea with honey, and it worked for a little while, only to have the pain return even worse than before.

On the first day of Spring Break, I woke up miserable. My head was pounding and a coughing fit tore through my chest, making my head feel like it was going to explode. I clutched at my throat protectively, wincing at the pain that followed. I groaned, curling up tighter into a ball as a chill swept through my body. I hadn’t had a fever all this time, but now I was almost certain I did. I was feeling too hot and too cold at the same time. A cold sweat had broken over my body, making the chills worse. I could feel the heat radiating from my face, but my body was shaking as if it was ten degrees in the room.

My first thought was to call Benson, but then I remembered he was working a 16 hour shift today. I didn’t want to bother him…his job already caused him enough stress as it was. With the break, he had picked up extra shifts to try and make some extra money.

One thing was certain, though, and it was that I needed to get out of bed. I needed to shower and rinse off the sweat that was sticking to my body. I needed to take some medicine and make some tea to try and soothe my throat so I could make it through the day.

“It’s just a cold,” I mumbled to myself, the words burning my throat. It was only a cold. I could handle that. I had had lots of colds in my life… but none of them caused my throat to feel so swollen and raw.

I counted to three in my head, then threw the blankets off and sat up.

A wave of dizziness immediately intercepted me and I closed my eyes tightly, riding it out. I grabbed one of the blankets and wrapped it around my shoulders before standing up. I grabbed my shower basket and a change of clothes, and headed toward the shared showers of the dorms.

I earned a few looks as I stumbled toward the showers, mostly concerned gazes. I ignored them, going straight into a stall and locking the door.

Sitting down on the shower bench, I closed my eyes and held my head in my hands. My body trembled, each inhale shaky as I tried to force air into my chest. God, I felt like death. The two-minute walk to the showers had left me feeling absolutely exhausted.

I sat there on the bench for about five minutes, just focusing on breathing and trying to ignore the burning in my throat. Swallowing was becoming difficult, and I could tell the swelling was getting worse. I could not remember a time my throat had hurt so bad. It was beginning to bring tears to my eyes, and I didn’t want to swallow because I knew how painful I knew it would be.

The only time I felt somewhat okay was when I was standing under the warm water in the shower. The water relaxed my aching muscles and washed the stickiness from my skin. The chills subsided, and even though I knew the warm water wasn’t good for my fever, I stood under the water much longer than I needed to; I knew the second I turned it off, I would feel miserable once again. So I waited until the warm water started to cool, leaving me with no choice but to turn it off and quickly wrap myself up in my towel to ward of the chills, which still returned tenfold. My body shook so hard it was difficult to walk back over to the bench. My hands trembled and made it difficult to slip my clothes on. I dropped my shirt twice onto the floor, my head throbbing each time I had to bend over to pick it up.

When I was finally dressed, bundled up in sweats and thick socks as well as a long sleeved shirt and a hoodie, I gathered my belongings and headed back to my dorm.

I popped a couple pills, too tired to make any tea at this point, and curled back up in bed. The simple task of showering had left me exhausted, and I fell back to sleep almost instantly.

This routine continued for a couple days. Benson would text me every day when he got off work, and I would keep quiet about my condition as to not worry him and stress him out. Meanwhile, I stayed in bed the entire weekend, my fever not getting any better and my throat still feeling like I had swallowed burning knives.

Soon, it was Monday, and it may have been Spring Break, but I still had to work.

It took me three times as long to get ready, and I dozed off on the bus on the way to the animal shelter. I was lucky the bus made a hard break, jolting me awake right before my stop.

My supervisor, Susan, gave me a sharp look when I walked through the door, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you alright?” She asked, looking up from her laptop.

I shrugged. “Spring cold,” I rasped, wincing at the pain it took just to talk. Thankfully my job didn’t require me to talk to any people. All I had to do was clean the kennels and take the dogs out to the run.

“If you’re not feeling well, you can go home,” Susan replied. “You really don’t look well, honey.”

“I’ll be okay,” I said as I put my bag away, deciding to keep my jacket on as another chill ran down my spine. I ignored Susan as she tried to say something else, and headed toward the kennels.  
I soon realized coming into work was a mistake. I was sweating only fifteen minutes in and cleaning just one kennel was taking twice as long as it should. My coworker was watching me from the corner of my eye, but she didn’t say anything. Everyone in this place knew how stubborn I was and knew I would not listen to anyone anyway. I just stuck to myself, working frustratingly slow, because it was all my body would allow me to do. I tried my best to ignore the way my throat burned each time I swallowed, and how my vision grew blurry when I was standing for too long, forcing me to lean against the wall of the kennel until the dizziness passed.

Two hours in, my arms were shaking, and I kept dropping the cleaning tools on the ground. My hands trembled when I tried to pick them up and hold onto them and I was feeling too weak to work efficiently. The thought to leave early came to mind, but I pushed it away. I only had a couple hours left, I could do it.

The dog in the kennel beside the one I was working in started to whine, picking up that something was not right. I ignored it, picking up the mop after I dropped it for the fourth time, only to double over as a coughing fit shook my frame. The coughs felt like a cheese grater against my throat and I fought back tears from the pain. _Why does it hurt so fucking bad?_

“Okay, that’s enough.”

I looked up to see Susan standing over me. She grabbed the mop from my hand and brushed the back of her hand against my forehead. She _tsk_ ’ed, shaking her head.

“You need to go home, Loghan. You have a fever and you are shaking so hard you can’t work.”

“I can work,” I protested, but was cut off by another coughing fit.

“No, you can’t. Go back to my office and call someone to come get you.”

When I didn’t move, Susan narrowed her eyes.

“ _Now,_ Loghan.”

Defeated, I went back into Susan’s office and slumped down one of the chairs. My fingers shook as I pulled up Benson’s name on my phone. I was just grateful he had gotten off work at 2:00 today, and I didn’t have to make him leave early to come pick me up.

“Hey, babe,” Benson answered on the second ring.

“Hey,” My voice cracked, and I heard a shuffling sound as he sat up straighter.

“Loghan, are you okay?”

My bottom lip trembled as I fought back a sob. I felt awful. It was all hitting me now, and I just wanted to crawl into a hole.

“Can you come get me from work?” My words were so quiet I didn’t know if he heard them.

“I’m on my way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and Comments are encouraged and appreciated! ♥


	2. Part Two

Benson’s POV

 

I drove to the shelter as fast as I could. Loghan had sounded so horrible on the phone and I knew she was feeling awful. Only problem was… she had told me yesterday she was doing fine. We had texted back and forth for hours and she never mentioned she was sick. Not even once. My stomach dropped at the thought that she had been sick this entire time and had not mentioned it to me. The possibility was just all too real.

I found a spot close to the door and jumped out of the truck, running inside. I had gone 20 miles over the speed limit the whole way here and it had taken only half the usual time to arrive.

She was sitting in the office by the door, her cheek pressed against the wall with her eyes closed. Her cheeks were flushed and I just knew she had a fever. I kneeled down in front of her, putting a hand on her leg.

“Loghan?” I spoke softly, and she opened her eyes. They were far too bright and unfocused.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice cracking and so quiet I knew she was about to lose it.

“Oh, love…” I put a hand on her cheek, biting my lip when I felt the heat rolling off of her. “You’re burning up. Why didn’t you tell me?”

She just looked at me, tears welling up in her eyes. She clutched her throat. “It hurts,” She croaked, the simple phrase obviously causing pain as she flinched.

“Let me see,” I took out my phone, switching the flashlight on. Loghan opened her mouth and I lit up the back of her throat, my breath catching as I took in the sight. Her throat was cherry red and swollen, and I could see pus pockets developing in the back. Her tonsils were slightly swollen as well. This was bad. This was Strep if I had ever seen it.

“Oh, baby,” I turned off the flashlight and she closed her mouth. “We need to go to Urgent Care. I’m almost positive you have Strep Throat.”

Loghan groaned, leaning her head against my shoulder. “Do I have to?”

I rubbed a hand up her back, kissing the top of her head. “Yes, love. You do.”

I helped her walk back to my truck, picking her up and setting her on the front seat when she didn’t have the energy to climb inside. She pulled her knees to her chest, letting out a chain of painful coughs and moaning when they ripped her throat to shreds. I winced; they just sounded so painful and my heart broke for her.

When we arrived at Urgent Care, the waiting room was packed. It was to be expected, as Flu season was starting to get bad and many people were here coughing and sniffling and looking like death. I let Loghan rest in a chair while I checked her in.

It was frustrating when half an hour had passed, and no one had called us back. Loghan had rested her head on my shoulder, and being this close to her was making me sweat. She had fallen asleep, but was woken up several times by her painful coughing that eventually made tears run down her cheeks. I stroked her hair as she coughed against my chest, trying my best to soothe her but knowing how much pain she was must be in. I wanted to cry myself, but I couldn’t. She needed me to be strong for her right now.

 

Two hours went by, and Loghan had fallen in a deeper sleep and my legs were starting to lose feeling from sitting here for so long. I was growing more annoyed by the fact we had not been called back yet as the waiting room began to empty.

I shifted slightly, and Loghan let out a light groan before nestling closer into my shoulder. Her forehead pressed against my neck and I nearly jumped up. It felt like I had been burned.

The color drained from my face as I pressed my palm against her neck. I recoiled against the boiling heat and my heart started to race.

This was not good. Her fever was significantly higher and she needed to be seen _now_.

I shook her awake and she lifted her head groggily.

“Is it our turn?” She asked sleepily, aiming a couple weak, rough coughs into her shoulder.

“Baby, look at me,” I brushed the hair from her eyes, but they were unfocused and cloudy.

She could not make eye contact, and I watched as she lifted a hand and started to scratch at her stomach.

“Why are you scratching, Loghan?” I asked, reaching down to move her shirt up.

Oh no….

I bit my lip, shaking my head as I took in the raised red rash making its way up her torso. I moved her hair was her neck and saw that it was spreading there too, taking over her skin.

“Oh, love… this is not good,” I stroked her cheek, and she leaned against it, letting out a hum of pleasure as my cold skin met hers.

 “I’ll be right back, okay? I promise. I’ll be right back,” I kissed her forehead and stood up, heading over to the admission’s desk.

The receptionist looks up when I approached, an annoying look on her face. She had had people come to her for hours now demanding to be seen, but this was different. Loghan was _extremely_ sick.

“We need help, now.” I told the receptionist.

“Sir, we are getting to everyone as fast as we can…”

I cut her off. “Ma’am, she is burning up and she has a rash. I’m pretty sure she has Strep and if she has a rash… this is just getting worse and she needs to see a doctor _now_.”

The receptionist blinked at me before turning to a nurse and asking her to take Loghan’s temperature.

The nurse followed me to where she sat, her head leaning against her shoulder and her frame shaking with fever chills. The nurse stuck the probe of the thermometer in her ear and when it beeped, her eyes bulged slightly.

“How high is it?” I asked immediately.

She turned the thermometer so I could see, and my mouth fell open.

104.8.

It did not take long for them to bring a wheelchair over to take her back. I had to pick her up and place her in the chair; she was barely coherent and was limp in my arms.

Once in the exam room, she fell back asleep on the table. I held her hand as they inserted an IV in order to administer fluids and an antipyretic to decrease her body temperature. She barely even reacted when the needle was inserted, and that made me want to panic. She hated needles.

The Physician’s nurse came in to get health history. I tried to answer her questions, telling them about her allergy to Penicillin and any history I knew. In reality, I still did not know everything about her medical history, and I knew there was more to it than she was letting me know.

Then the nurse asked how long she had felt sick, and I realized I had no idea. We had not seen each other much for the past few weeks, too busy with work and studying and midterms. She had not told me anything about being sick, but that was too common of an occurrence and I knew she had probably lied.

“Loghan?” I brushed her cheek and she groaned, opening her eyes halfway.

 “Hmmm?” She hummed, letting her eyes fall shut again.

“Love, open your eyes,” I coaxed, trying to ignore the nurse as she stood behind me. “I need to ask you a question.”

“Mm… what?” She let out a sleepy sigh, her voice just barely above a whisper.

“How long have you been sick?” I asked.

Her shoulder moved slightly, and I figured it was supposed to be a shrug.

“A couple weeks,” She murmured, already starting to fall asleep again.

My stomach sunk. Two weeks, and I hadn’t noticed? It was not like we had not seen each other the entire two weeks. She came over for a movie about a week and a half ago, but she had seemed fine. Maybe a couple coughs here and there… but two weeks? Two weeks and I did not realize how sick she had been?

“How long have you had a fever, Miss Farren?” The nurse asked next.

She was quiet, and I thought she may have fallen back asleep. I was about to shake her shoulder when she spoke, her voice so soft and quiet we both had to strain to hear her response.

“Three days, I think.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, leaning forward and trying to calm the worry and frustration that was brewing. Three days? Not once did she mention this to me, not once… I asked her every day how she was doing and she just… lied. I knew better. I knew so much better. I had been with her for four years now, and I knew how she hid things from everyone around her. I should have called her. I would have known just from the sound of her voice she was sick. I could have taken care of her.

The nurse had finished her assessment and I looked up as she left. Then I turned to Loghan, who was about to doze off again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, taking hold of her hand. “I would have taken care of you.”

She gave my hand a squeeze and formed a small half-smile. Her blue eyes were still fever bright, but her skin felt cooler, if just a little bit.

“I didn’t want you… to worry,” she replied, her voice cracking.

I shook my head, forcing a smile. “I don’t mind. I want, no, I _need_ you to worry me. Even if it’s just a cold. I promised I would take care of you.”

She smiled, then let out a yawn as sleep threatened to pull her under again. But before it could, the doctor knocked and entered the room.

I helped her sit up so he could examine her throat, then watched as he swabbed it for the Strep Test. He lifted her shirt to examine the rash, and she shivered when the air touched her skin. His brown knitted together and he shook his head.

“Well, I am pretty sure it’s Strep… we have to send the test in, but I am still going to prescribe antibiotics,” the Physician stated as he typed onto the laptop. “It looks like the infection had spread and developed into Scarlet Fever. We need a strong antibiotic to tackle this bad of an infection. She needs to take it twice a day for seven days, okay?”

I nodded, watching Loghan as her chest rose and fell with each breath. She had fallen back to sleep, the effort of simply sitting up drained her of any strength she had.

He handed me a prescription for the antibiotic as well as a Doctor’s Note to get her off work for the next week. Then we were dismissed; I refused the wheelchair and carried her from the exam room myself.

Loghan slept in the front seat, not waking up once. I left the car on with the heat up while I went into Walgreens to fill her prescriptions, not wanting to drag her inside. It only took twenty minutes, and I picked up some Liquid Tylenol and cough medicine while I waited. Liquid Tylenol would go down easier than the pills, and I knew her throat would be raw for several days. An infection like this would take a while to fully resolve.

Once we were finally back at the apartments, I carried her bridal style up the stairs with the Walgreens bag dangling in one hand. It was a challenge unlocking the door with her in my arms, but the lock finally clicked open and I pushed the door in, carrying her into the bedroom to let her finally rest somewhere comfortable and warm.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and Comments are encouraged and appreciated! ♥


	3. Part Three

Loghan’s POV

 

When I finally woke up, I had no idea where I was. I blinked my eyes open, disorientated, and looked around. The room was dim, and it took me a couple minutes to realize I was in Benson’s bedroom. I was tucked into his bed, wearing one of his shirts and a pair of boxers, and when I jolted upright, a wet cloth fell from my forehead and onto my lap.

The sudden movement made the room spin and I held my head in my hands, letting out a low moan.

_How did I get here?_

The last thing I remembered was being at work, and then calling Benson. I remembered him showing up… did we end up going to Urgent Care? The whole ordeal was such a blur.

All I knew was my throat still hurt and my head was pounding.

And where was Benson?

I slowly moved my legs over the bed, holding onto the mattress for support as I stood up. My legs were shaky but they managed to hold my weight. My throat was killing me… it almost felt worse than before. I rubbed it, feeling my swollen lymph nodes and the rough, bumpy skin on my neck.

Bumpy?

I walked into the bathroom, confused by the way my skin felt, and was shocked when I noted my appearance in the mirror. My face was pale aside from the red flush across my cheeks, and my eyes sunken with dark smudges underneath them. But most alarming was the rash that had spread up my throat. I lifted my shirt, seeing the same rash spread across my torso. I noticed it on my arms too, and my breath stuck in my throat. I gripped the edge of the sink to prevent myself from falling onto the floor as my legs began to tremble.

“Loghan?” I turned my head, hearing a knock on the bathroom door. “Are you in there?”

It was Benson. I relaxed a little, but my heart was still racing.

“Y-Yeah.”

He opened the door, and I ran into his arms.

I did not realize how much I needed him to hold me until now.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, rubbing a hand up and down my back.

I shook my head. “Not good.” I leaned into his chest, grabbing onto his shirt. I didn’t want him to leave me alone again. I needed him.

He guided me into the living room, sitting me down on the couch before he sat down next to me. I pressed against him and he held me tight.

“W-Where did this rash come from?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“You don’t remember?” Benson asked, concern coating his words.

I did not remember anything after he picked me up from work. Everything was just a blur… a cold stethoscope, people I did not know talking, feeling so tired… everything was mashed together.

I shook my head.

“Well,” Benson rubbed a hand down his face. He looked just as tired as I felt. “It appeared when we were in the waiting room. Your temp spiked when the rash appeared. It was almost 105.”

“But why?” I was confused. I just had a sore throat, why was my skin breaking out into a rash?

“You have Strep Throat,” Benson explained. “You let it go too long, Loghan, and it developed into Scarlet Fever by the time I picked you up.”

“Strep?” I furrowed my eyebrows as I brought a hand up to my throat. “I-I thought it was just a sore throat.”

“Loghan, a sore throat isn’t usually accompanied by a fever,” Benson said. “Especially not one that last three days.”

“Oh,” I whispered, not meeting his gaze.

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” He sighed. “Why did you _not_ tell me you were sick?”

I fiddled with the hem of my shirt. “How did you know it had been th-three days?”

“You told the nurse. You also told her you had been sick for two weeks before the fever.” Benson’s eyes were boring into me, and I refused to look up, knowing they would pierce right through me.

“O-Oh…”

“Why do you insist on lying to me?” He asked, lifting my chin and forcing me to meet his bright green gaze.

I lifted a hand to my mouth as a string of coughs clawed up my throat. They hurt so much, and when I was able to catch my breath, I rested my head on his shoulder and shrugged. “You’re always so busy and stressed with work and with school… it’s Spring Break and I didn’t want you to have to worry about me. I… I thought I would be fine.”

Benson let out a frustrated sigh. “Loghan, it is my _job_ to take care of you. I’m your boyfriend. You are my priority, not anything else. _You_. If something is wrong, you need to let me know. Okay?”

I nodded, nestling closer against him. “Will you hold me? For just a little bit?”

Benson enveloped me in his arms, leaning back against the couch with my head on his chest. “Of course, love.”

Despite sleeping for nearly 24 hours already, I dozed off again, feeling exhausted yet secure in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and Comments are encouraged and appreciated! ♥


	4. Part Four

Loghan’s POV

 

After spending a couple days at Benson’s apartment, the rash had faded away. I spent most of the days curled up underneath his covers while he brought me my antibiotic and hot tea with honey and lemon. My fever went down, still lingering between 99.8 and 100.4, but it was not nearly as high as before.

Once the rash was gone, I tried to convince him to go back to work. He had called out for the past two days, and I knew he needed to go back. His bills were not going to pay themselves, and I had tried to offer him money which he flat out refused.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, propped up against the headboard as I sipped the mug of tea he had brought me just a little bit ago. “Just go, okay?”

Benson shook his head, standing at the foot of the bed. He was already in his scrubs, but was hesitant to leave. “I don’t know. You still have a fever.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s 100.1. That’s barely even considered a fever.”

Truth was, it had been three days since he had taken me to Urgent Care and my throat was still absolutely killing me. But there was four days’ worth of antibiotics left, and I figured they just needed some more time to work. My rash was gone and the fever was down, so they had to be doing something.

Benson gave me a long look, and then sighed. “Okay, fine. But you have to promise to keep taking the Tylenol to keep your fever down. And don’t forget to take your antibiotic at 8PM.”

“Yes, sir.” I gave him a salute and he laughed

With a smile, Benson leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “Okay, I’m going to go. I’ll see you tonight when I get off.”

I returned his smile, grabbing the collar of his scrub shirt so I could pull him down and plant a kiss on his cheek. I didn’t dare kiss his lips, in fear of spreading this awful plague.

Not long after he left, I dozed off. I woke up a few hours later just in time to take my pill, but when I moved, a wave of dizziness washed over me. I held my head and groaned, slowly moving into a sitting position while still holding my head. My clothes were sticking to my form and I felt a sheen of sweat on my forehead. I grabbed the thermometer from the nightstand and stuck the probe in my ear, begging the numbers to not be above a hundred.

When it beeped, I glanced at the screen and my stomach fell.

102.3.

“Shit,” I breathed, rubbing my throat. It was really, _really_ hurting. I tried to take a drink from the water bottle on the table, but found I was barely able to swallow. The simple act brought tears to my eyes and once the water was down, I was sputtering and coughing, which only multiplied the pain.

I remembered the medicine, and I slowly stood and walked into the kitchen, holding onto the walls for support. The prescription bottle and Tylenol bottle were on the counter, and I popped out my evening dose of the antibiotic and measured out a cupful of the liquid Tylenol. Swallowing the pill took a lot of effort, as my swollen throat did not want to cooperate. I chugged a glass of water, willing it to go down as tears streamed down my cheeks. Finally, it slid down my esophagus and I was left gasping as I willed the pain to go away. The Tylenol wasn’t as hard to swallow, and I praised Benson for picking up the liquid instead of the pills.

I glanced at the time on the microwave, noting that Benson would be home in just a couple hours. I hoped that my fever would be down when he got home; the last thing I wanted to do was alarm him and make him stay home tomorrow. He needed to go to work and I didn’t want to be the one responsible if he could not afford his bills.

I headed back into the bedroom, setting an alarm for 15 minutes before he would be home. Easily, I fell asleep again as the Tylenol reduced the pain in my throat and brought my temp down. But when my alarm went off and I stuck the thermometer into my ear again, my fever was still at 101.5. I heard Benson’s truck pulling into the complex, and I hurried into the bathroom and wet a cloth, covering my face to cool it down before he could make his way into the apartment. I ran the wet cloth down my neck and arms, shivering as it touched my flushed skin. I did not like fooling him, but this was just a minor hiccup in my recovery, and I would be just fine tomorrow. He did not need to know about the fever. He did not need to worry about me. I was perfectly fine.

When I heard his steps outside the door, I threw the washcloth in the hamper and quickly got back into the bed, covering up and pretending I was asleep.

I listened as he entered the apartment and threw his keys and wallet on the counter. He shook the pill bottle, counting the pills, I assumed, to be sure I took my dose that evening. Then I heard his steps as he headed toward the bedroom, and listened as the door creaked as he entered the room.

I did not jerk when he placed his hand on my forehead and was pleased when he didn’t recoil. My plan had worked! My skin didn’t feel as feverish as I felt, but I had to suppress a shiver when his cold skin made contact with my cheek.

He didn’t attempt to wake me and instead took off his scrubs and settled into the bed beside me. I let a small smile trace my lips as I mentally patted myself on the back. I had tricked him, yes, but I was positive in the morning, I would be feeling much better.

 

It became all to obvious that that was not going to be the case. It was a good thing Benson was a heavy sleeper, because at 4AM, I woke up shaking from chills. I tried to curl up tighter but they continued to wrack my body and made my chin tremble and teeth knock together. My hands traveled up to my throat, where it was swollen and tender under my touch. I winced, hating the way it burned like I had swallowed burning knives.

I didn’t want Benson to find out. This was just my body fighting the infection and the antibiotics were working, I knew they were… I just needed to take some more Tylenol and I would be fine.

I moved slowly, careful not to wake Benson but also so I wouldn’t pass out. My body trembled and my vision swam. My skin prickled when it hit the cool air and I wrapped my arms tightly around myself as I made my way into the kitchen.

I decided to ditch the cap, and took a swig of the Tylenol straight from the bottle. Choking it down, I took a tiny sip of water to wash it away. I wanted to drink more, but it was painful enough just getting a small amount of fluid down.

After running some cool water over my face, I quietly crawled back under the covers with Benson. He rolled over and I froze, afraid I had woken him, but I was met with a snore as he nestled into the pillow.

With Benson gone most of the day, I found it easy to keep my condition a secret from him. He gave me the 8AM dose of antibiotics every morning before he left, satisfied that my fever seemed to be staying down. He checked my temp every morning, and it remained below 100.0, thanks to the late night doses of Tylenol. Each night I was woken up by violent chills and I would stagger into the kitchen to take Tylenol straight from the bottle. It was getting low, but Benson never checked the bottle and never noticed more was missing than when he left.

I continued to take the antibiotic every evening while he was gone, and then attempted to sleep until 15 minutes before he came home, when I would run the cool water over my face to reduce the heat radiating from my fever flushed cheeks. He never said anything in the morning and he never suspected a thing.

He did not worry over me and continued to go to work. I put on my best healthy façade, only letting it crumble when he drove away. I felt miserable, with throbbing aches and a pounding in my head that grew worse each day.

My sinuses started to hurt and I developed a sniffle that turned into sharp, painful sneezes. I stayed in bed the entire time he was at work, sneezing into the covers and moaning at the pain as they tore up my throat. I just hoped the antibiotics would kick in soon…

 

Then came the day I took the last pill in the bottle, and I realized that maybe they really hadn’t worked like I thought they would.

Benson had left early that day, scheduled to work 6AM-10PM. He promised me he would try to come home early and slipped away before I was completely awake.

When I woke up later in the morning, I immediately realized something was very wrong. My ears were ringing and felt like they were filled with cotton, with pain that was sharp and made me hold my head in pain. And speaking of my head… the spaces under my eyes and between my brows felt like they were being stabbed repeatedly. The sinus pain was so much worse than the day before, and they felt swollen and inflamed. I felt a drip coming from my nose and sniffled, bringing on a fit of increasingly painful sneezes that made my throat feel like it was going to tear open and my sinuses feel like they were going to explode.

Everything hurt. Every little sound felt like gunfire in my head. I just wanted to curl up under the covers and never come back out, but I knew I had to go into the kitchen and take the last dose of my antibiotic. I knew the Tylenol would at least dull the pain. It was just getting there that was the problem.

As slowly as I could, I stood from the bed, but my legs shook until my knees buckled and I lowered myself to the ground. On my hands and knees, I crawled toward the kitchen, stopping every few feet to lean against the wall and hold my head as my breathing came out in shaky gasps. The pounding in my head intensified and my infected sinuses was causing my nose to tickle and stream snot down my face. I wiped my nose with my wrist, sneezing twice and nearly screaming as they shredded my throat.

After what felt like forever, I had crawled into the kitchen. On shaky legs, I pulled myself upright using the countertop and leaned heavily against it. I shook the last pill from the bottle and tried to swallow it, tears streaming down my face as I forced it down my swollen esophagus. I swallowed as much water as I could manage, just barely getting the pill into my stomach.

I went for the Tylenol bottle next, and my pulse roared in my ears as panic set it; it was almost empty. There was just enough for half a dose. I wanted to cry with frustration, but the sobs made my throat rage. Instead, I forced the tiny amount of red fluid down and threw the bottle into the trash.

I knew Benson had some medication in his bathroom cabinet, and I hoped I would find something to help the fever as well as the pain. I pulled myself up using the sink and opened the cabinet behind the mirror. I found a bottle with extra strength Ibuprofen on the shelf and let out a sigh of relief. I popped two pills in my mouth and attempted to wash them down with water.

My throat violently protested, the pain making me gag and spit the water and pills into the sink. Tears ran down my eyes as I massaged the outside of my throat, trying to swallow just the spit that was pooling in my mouth but I couldn’t even manage that small task. I spit into the sink and let out a sob, allowing my knees to buckle beneath me.

I sunk onto the floor, leaning against the wall. There was nothing else I could do but accept defeat and wait for Benson to get home. I could not even make it into the bedroom to grab my phone to call him, and at this point, I would not even care he would have to leave work early. There was twelve more hours until he would be home, and I just wanted to curl up onto the floor and sleep for all of them. My eyes were already drooping from exhaustion, my body shutting down after just the simple task of taking the medicine.

My small frame was shaking as two more harsh sneezes escaped my sinuses, and I reached for some toilet paper to mop up the mess on my face. I was not surprised to find the tissue soaked with dark green mucus, evidence of the raging infection growing inside of my sinuses.

My ears were ringing and felt like they would start bleeding. My head felt like someone was beating it with a hammer. Everything hurt and my body shook with the fever chills.

I gave up and rested my hot cheek against the wall, letting the cool surface soothe my burning skin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and Comments are encouraged and appreciated! ♥


	5. Part Five

Benson’s POV

 

I ran up the stairs at the apartments, eager to get inside and surprise Loghan. A coworker had covered my second shift, and I was able to come home a whole eight hours earlier than planned. Loghan was obviously not feeling 100%, and I could not wait to cuddle with her all night. I hoped some snuggles would do her some good.

When I walked into the apartment, I headed to the bedroom first but was confused when she was not in the bed. I looked around, spotting her phone on the nightstand and her bag on the floor by the closet. She would not have left without them, so she must be here somewhere.

“Loghan?” I called, going to the living room to check the couch but she was now there either.

“ _Heh’ **schshu**_ … **_Hih-tchh_** _he- **kchuu**!_ _snnfff_ … _oww_ …”

I jumped a little at the sound of the sharp sneezes and nearly ran into the bathroom. My heart was pounding against my chest. They sounded so harsh and painful and I was scared of the state I would find her in.

She had been fine when I left. Her fever was gone, her skin was cool… please don’t let her be sick again.

I pushed the door open and was taken aback by what I found.

Loghan was curled up on the floor, her body trembling as she aimed another rough sneeze at the ground. She let out a couple painful coughs followed by a whimper, and my heart crumbled. Her cheeks were flushed bright red and dark mucus was draining from her nose after the sneezing. Her eyes were closed, squeezed tightly shut, one hand gently massaging her temple.

What the hell happened?

This is not how she was this morning. How had her condition deteriorated so fast?

I was on my knees in an instant, shaking her shoulder in an attempt to get a response. She blinked, her eyes half-lidded and cloudy. They snapped shut a second later, a groan escaping her lips.

“ _He’ **kchew**_! _Hih_ … _heh- **estch**!_ ” She sniffled thickly, tears sliding down her cheek.

“Oh, love,” My own eyes began to water and I wiped the tears away before they could fall.

Her clothes were soaked with sweat and she was absolutely burning under my touch.

“I’ll be right back, love.”

I ran into the bedroom and grabbed the thermometer from the nightstand. I slid the probe into her ear and nearly dropped it when it beeped.

104.5.

She had never been above 103 since coming home, and she was only that high the first night back. How was she _boiling_ right now?

My first thought was the Tylenol and I raced into the kitchen, but the bottle was gone.

_Where the hell is it?_

I searched the cabinets but found nothing. I pulled the garbage can out from under the sink and spotted the bottle right on top. Empty.

_How?_

I wanted to scream. How the fuck was it empty? She had not taken it for days… at least not that I knew of.

Had she been taking it without my knowing?

_Please don’t let that be true…_

I went back into the bathroom and pulled her into a sitting position, letting her lean against the wall. The Tylenol was gone, and antibiotics were gone… what the hell was happening?

“Loghan,” My voice was threatening to break and I cleared my throat. “Baby, did you take all the Tylenol?”

She nodded. I did not get a further explanation.

I worried my lip, brushing her hair out of her sweaty face. I grabbed a wash rag and soaked it with cold water, wiping the beads of sweat from her brow and trying anything to bring this fever down.

She sneezed three times, each one sounding even worse than the last. I mopped the snot from her face, very concerned about how dark it was. There was an infection in her sinuses and I just hoped it was not from the Strep. If the color was any indication, the infection was severe and she needed to get to the hospital.

“Let’s get you off the floor, okay?” My hands trembled as I lifted her up. She was limp as a rag-doll as I carried her into the living room, gently placing her on the couch and draping a blanket over her small, shaking form. The shivering was only going to cause her fever to raise, and I needed it to go down. It was getting too close to a dangerous level.

She was slightly more awake now, but not coherent. Her eyes were only slightly open, her breathing rough and ragged and she struggled to pull air into her lungs.

I was pacing, dialing 911 on my phone. She needed to go to the hospital, and she was so unstable I did not think driving would be a good idea. If she had a seizure in the truck because of her high fever, there was nothing I could do. 

I was talking to the Operator when I heard the gasping. Loghan was rolled over on her side, a hand to her throat and her eyes wide open. They were hazy, but her pupils were dilated and they were wild with fear. She looked right through me, her mouth gaping as the gasping was replaced by an airless scream.

I thought my heart would stop. She couldn’t breathe.

Her lips were turning blue when I pulled her from the couch onto the floor, and her eyes rolled back in her head before closing.

Her chest was not raising. There was no air getting into her lungs.

I knew it was because her throat was swollen. It was cutting off her windpipe. She was suffocating.

I could hear the Operator demanding to know what was going on, but I ignored them.

I tilted Loghan’s chin back and blew air into the lungs the best I could, forcing oxygen through her windpipe, using my own breathes to keep her alive until the Paramedics arrived.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and Comments are encouraged and appreciated! ♥


	6. Part Six

Benson’s POV

 

I could not remember what day of the week it was. Time was going too fast and too slow at the same time. I found himself running in and out of the hospital room, going to the cafeteria, to the waiting room, and then back into the hospital room after I had gotten the restlessness out of my system. It felt like it had been weeks since Loghan had been admitted, but when I glanced at the calendar at the nurses’ station, I realized it had only been three days. Three days since I had performed CPR just to keep air in her lungs, three days since the ambulance had rushed her into the ER and I had followed close behind, three days since the nurses attempted to stick a tube down her throat to keep her airway open as it rapidly began to swell even more. Three days since they told me it had taken four attempts to get it down, because her tonsils were so inflamed with infection that they were blocking her trachea. Three days since I had broken down in the hallway, and the nurse had to hold me up to prevent me from collapsing onto the floor.

It was just yesterday that they were able to remove the tube and she began to breathe on her own again. She was moved out of the ICU and into a room on the Recovery floor, with IVs in both arms as two different antibiotics were pumped through her system to fight the infection. Her fever had broken, but she was still unconscious.

It had been three days since I had seen her blue eyes. Three days since I heard her voice.

God, how I missed her voice.

I sat next to the bed, holding her hand tightly in my own as I absent-mindedly rubbed circles into her palm with my thumb. The TV was on, but I wasn’t watching it; it was mostly being used for background noise. The silence was too much.

The doctor had been in earlier, going over her treatment plan with me. We were not married, which meant I did not have any rights to sign off on things for her. It was frustrating, but I was grateful they were kind enough to update me on what was happening.

They explained to me that she needed a tonsillectomy, and if she was not awake by morning, they would have to operate without her consent.

I had just nodded. Her tonsils were still inflamed and the infection had caused damage, but the swelling had gone down as the antibiotics fought the infection.

The Strep had spread throughout her whole body. The antibiotics she had been taking at home had worked for a little while, but the bacteria grew resistant to them over just a few days. The Strep continued to grow in her throat before moving into her ear canals, her sinuses, and her tonsils. There was evidence it had started to spread into her lungs, which was another reason her breathing grew so difficult. By the next day, or even that night, she could have died.

I paled at the thought. I tried not to think of what could have happened if I had not come home early, but I could not get the image out of my head of finding her cold and lifeless on the bathroom floor. My stomach rolled and I took a deep breath through my nose, pushing the panic down. That did not happen. She was here and she was alive.

But I could not understand why she did not tell me. Why didn’t she tell me her fever came back or that she was feeling worse and not better? Why did I not know she was not getting better? She was growing sicker by the day, and I did not find out until it was almost too late. Until I had almost lost her.

I kept going over the last few days in my head; she always seemed tired in the morning before I left, but nothing too out of the ordinary. Every night when I came home, I would check her forehead and was always met with cool skin. Thinking back, maybe it was a little too cool… but that did not make any sense. She had been burning alive on the inside, but on the outside, her skin was just slightly cool to the touch. It did not take me off guard. I assumed her skin was so cool because she was sleeping and body temperature decreased with sleep. It was normal.

I assumed it was normal, but her condition was anything but. And I had had no idea that she was standing on Death’s doorstep.

I straightened up in the chair, stretching my back but keeping my fingers locked in hers. I glanced at the clock, which read 8:30pm. I knew visiting hours were over at 9PM, and unlike the ICU, I would not be allowed the stay overnight. I just really hoped she would wake up before I left. I didn’t want her to wake up alone and her surgery was scheduled at eight in the morning. I would not be allowed back in until 9:00AM, which meant she would be sent to surgery alone and scared, and I would not be able to tell her everything would be okay.

I leaned forward, my lips tickling her ear.

“Loghan” I whispered gently, giving her hand a squeeze. “Loghan, my love. Please wake up.”

I looked at her face, watching for the smallest movement to show that she heard me.

But there was nothing.

I sighed, feeling like my heart was breaking. “You know… this silent treatment is getting kind of old.” My voice cracked at the end, a tell-tale that I was about to start crying. I rubbed at my eyes with my free hand, willing the tears to disappear.

I leaned over her body, kissing her forehead and her nose and her cheek and anywhere else I could reach. “I love you. I love you so much, and I don’t want to leave, but they are going to come kick me out any minute. And I’m going to have to drive home without you, and you’re still going to be here, and I’m so sorry I have to go. But I promise I will be back tomorrow. Please try not to get scared if you wake up and I’m not here, okay? You are in good hands, I promise.”

At this point, I could not hold it back. The tears were falling freely now, and they were dripping onto our intertwined hands. I rested my forehead on top of them, my shoulders shaking as quiet sobs escaped my lips.

Then there was a squeeze.

I thought I had imagined it at first, but then I felt it again. I jumped up and stared at our conjoined hands. A few seconds later, there was another squeeze and I sobbed again.

“Loghan?” I asked, searching her face for something, anything.

I watched her eyes open a sliver, her eyelashes fluttering as she fought to open them. She was blinking them open against the dim lights, letting them adjust before turning her head slightly toward me.

I couldn’t speak; I felt like those blue eyes had just stolen my voice away. I cupped her face in my hands, covering her skin in kisses. She held onto my wrists, holding tight and not letting go.

We stayed like that for a while, in total silence, our foreheads pressed against each others. She had closed her eyes again, but I knew she was still awake, because every now and then I felt her squeeze my wrists and let out a soft sigh.

She was back, and I never wanted to let go of her again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and Comments are encouraged and appreciated! ♥


	7. Part Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Mention of Abuse

Loghan’s POV

 

They had made Benson go home, but had allowed him to stay an extra half an hour. I could not speak much, my throat raw and my voice hoarse. They told me it was from the tube. I could not remember a tube but I did not want to think about it.

I signed the consent for the surgery a couple hours later when I was finally able to hold a pen without shaking. As much as I hated the thought, they convinced me it had to happen or else I would never get better. My tonsils would remain enlarged and painful and breathing would be difficult, especially at night.

 

The surgery happened that next morning, and when I was rolled into Post-Op, I was feeling high and groggy off the anesthetic.

Benson met me in my room in Recovery, giving me a kiss once the nurse left. I was tired and sore but I was so happy to see him.

They let me go home the next day, giving us information about Post-Op Tonsillectomy Instructions and prescriptions for Oral Antibiotics and Pain Medication. The thought of swallowing more pills made my throat hurt, even though it was feeling much better than before.

 

We didn’t talk about that day he found me. I waited for Benson to mention something about the day he had found me in the bathroom. I was waiting for him to ask why I had not told him about the fever or why my skin was always so cool or why I was so stupidly stubborn.

Honestly, I did not even know why I had done what I did. I was so confident that the antibiotics were going to work and that I just needed to rest and let them do their job. I did not want to make Benson worried… which had obviously backfired seeing the bags under his eyes and the worry lines etched into his forehead.

He had spent the last couple days in the hospital rubbing my back when I would start to cough, helping me support my neck so I would not open the incision up, squeezing my hand when the pain would become unbearable. He had been so kind but I could see the anguish in his eyes. I had put him through hell, and I felt awful about it.

Benson was quiet as he drove away from the hospital, quiet as he pulled through the pharmacy drive-thru to pick up my meds, and quiet as he led me up the stairs into the apartment.

I kept my head slow; the tension was tangible and I felt like it was suffocating me. I knew Benson would be bringing it up soon, now that we were alone in the apartment.

Soon was sooner than I thought.

I was just settling onto the couch, pulling the fuzzy gray blanket over my legs when Benson sat down by my feet. His face was sullen, eyes dull, and when he smiled, it was lacking all the life and charm it usually held.

It scared me.

This was not the Benson I loved. This was only of shell of him.

“Benson…”

He held up a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose with his other. “Stop, Loghan.”

I bit my tongue, staring down at my lap.

“I just…” he exhaled through his nose. “I just don’t understand.”

I stayed quiet. What could I say?

Benson looked me in the face now, his eyes hard.

“It’s like… you don’t value your life,” he said.

I stared at him, my mouth slightly agape. How could he say that? Of _course_ I valued my life… didn’t I? There were times I thought things would be… easier if I was not here, but didn’t everyone think that sometimes? I would never purposely end my life, and letting myself get so sick was not my intention. It had just… happened.

 “That’s a lie,” I responded, but my voice was still shot and I muffled a couple dry coughs into my elbow.

Benson shook his head. “It’s true. You suffer and you keep it to yourself. You don’t tell anyone you’re hurting until it’s too late. It’s like you do it on purpose. Like you believe you deserve it.”

“I thought I was getting better,” I mumbled. “I thought the antibiotics were working.”

Benson ignored me. “I asked you every day ‘how are you feeling?’. And every day, you said you felt better. Every damn day, Loghan. Your face was cool when I came home… you were never higher than 99 when I checked your temp in the mornings. I believed you.”

I didn’t meet his eyes. He was right. I had messed up. I should have told him. Maybe we could have prevented this whole thing, and I would not have been in the hospital, and the surgery would not have happened, and my throat would not be throbbing right now.

“I fucking believed you, and I shouldn’t have,” Benson brought a hand up to his mouth, and I heard a sob escape his lips. I looked up then, and saw his shoulder shaking as tears slid down his cheeks.

“You were dying,” he choked out. “You were burning up and you couldn’t breathe. If I… If I hadn’t come home early…”

A sob cut off his sentence and he turned away. My heart was breaking. What had I done to him?

Benson coughed to try and clear his throat, and he turned to meet my eyes. “If I had come home that night at 10:30, like I was supposed to, you would have been dead.”

I stared at him for a moment, the words clicking together in my mind. I knew it had been serious, but the doctors and nurses had never told me just how close to death I had really been. Now that I knew, it felt like someone was squeezing my chest and I struggled to pull air into my lungs.

I focused on breathing for several minutes, consciously pulling air in and pushing air out of my lungs. Benson watched me closely, his eyes red-rimmed and glossy.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He repeated

His voice so quiet I almost didn’t hear it.

“Because,” I rasped, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. “I thought the antibiotics just needed more time. I did not want you to worry.”

The answer was truthful. It was honest.

“But why didn’t you _tell me_ you were still so _sick_?” He said.

I thought back to the days I woke up feverish and dizzy. The 103 degree temps, the body aches, the white patches in the back of my throat. The cool washcloths to soothe my flushed cheeks and the Tylenol bottle I had emptied.

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

Benson let out a fake laugh that sounded more like a strangled sob. “You’ve exhausted that excuse, sweetheart.”

I picked at my fingernails, worrying my bottom lip. “I didn’t want you to miss work. I didn’t want you to lose hours and be short on money and not be able to pay your bills. I did not want to be the reason for you to stress even more. I didn’t want to create any more problems for you, Benson. I don’t want to be a problem.”

I choked on the last word, coughing harshly into my fist.

His eyes softened. “You are _never_ a problem, Loghan.”

“But I am!” I cried. “I could never rely on anyone when I was sick. Dad could never take off work, and when he had to, he always blamed it on me when our electricity got turned off, or our heat. If I stayed home, and he found out, he always got so mad…it got so bad, I stopped telling him when I was sick. Because then he wouldn’t take off work, and I would not miss any school and it would be okay.”

I didn’t mention the countless times I had showed up to school sporting a 102-degree fever, and the nurse tried to call my parents to come get me, but I always gave them a wrong number so my dad would not find out.

I did not bring up the time I was in sixth grade and I could not even get out of bed in the morning. I had hidden under the covers until he went to work. He received a call from the school later that day, and even though my muscles were screaming and my fever was reaching close to 104, he pulled me from the bed and spanked me with a wooden spoon so hard I had black and purple welts the next day.

I bit my tongue when I remembered the time I had the stomach flu, and had accidently made a mess in the bathroom. When he found me lying next to the toilet, he lifted me off the floor by the arm so hard that he left fingerprint shaped bruises on my bicep. Then he made my clean it up while I was still so shaky and feverish I could hardly even see straight.

I kept it all to myself, and planned to keep it that way. He did not need to know how cruel my father had been. He knew enough already. He did not need to carry my baggage for me. I could handle it.

Benson pulled me against his chest and embraced me, running a hand through my hair.

“I’m not your father,” He whispered. “I would never get upset at you for being sick. You can’t help it and I never want you to hide it from me.”

I pressed my face into his shirt, taking deep breaths to try and calm my pounding heart. The memories were making me panic, and I needed to relax. I need to breathe. I had not had a panic attack in over a year and there was no reason to panic here. I was safe.

We were silent for a while. I relaxed against his chest, listening to the beating of his heart.

Then, he broke the silence.

“I think you should move in,” Benson said, and for a moment, I thought I heard him wrong.

“What?”

He pulled back, brushing the hair away from my face. “You should move in. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. And after… after the other day, I just think it would be a good idea.”

“Benson…” I started, but he interrupted me.

“It’s not because I don’t trust you or want to keep an eye on you or anything,” He said. “We would be able to spend more time together. And I only live half a mile from your work. We could ride to school together so you won’t have to take the bus.”

All his reasons were making sense.

“What do you say?” He asked, his face alive with anticipation. He was eagerly waiting for my response.

I thought about it for a minute. I tried to think of the downside, but I could not think of much. I would not be right on campus anymore, but the apartments were only three bus stops away.

And, I would get to see Benson every morning and every night.

A smile pulled at the corners of my lips.

“Loghan?” He asked again.

“If you really want me to,” I pressed my lips to his forehead. “I would love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and Comments are encouraged and appreciated! ♥


End file.
